


The Marriage Mishap

by JoeC



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeC/pseuds/JoeC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles Stilinski wakes up in a hotel room in Beacon Hills, completely naked, save a shirt  that is too big and definitely not his, and in bed with a strange man, he didn't think his life could get more complicated. Apparently he was wrong. So very wrong.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Based off of "The Marriage Mishap". By Judith Stacy, a Harlequin Historical novel.  (C) 1997</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I am rubbish at writing historical - Harlequin inspired fictions. I have read a shit ton of Harlequin Historical, but in Swedish, so I have zero grasp of the proper wording and things like that. If anyone is willing to beta this for me, I would be eternally grateful.
> 
> Please feel free to give me constructive criticism as well as perhaps a good recommendation for a good historical novel/fanfiction.

Beacon Hills 1894

 

Whose shirt was he wearing?

 

Stiles Silinski raised his head from the pillow and narrowed his eyes at the white sleeve. It was made of soft linen, and at least two sizes too big to be one of his own shirts if the length of the sleeve was anything to go by.

 

His stomach made a small jump before it clenched uncomfortably. A sinking feeling slowly taking root as he turned his head to let his gaze wander across the room. The bright morning sun that shone through the laced curtains made his eyes hurt and his head started to pound violently.

 

Clenching his eyes shut he turned his head so the sunshine would not fall directly into his eyes. Opening them cautiously he could see the contours of a table, a green velvet couch and a mirror.

 

Small tremors of fear shot through him. Nothing in the room was familiar to him.

 

Where was he?

 

He groaned softly and let his head fall back onto the soft pillow in an attempt to make his poor head stop throbbing.

 

The bed suddenly shifted and he could feel heavy arm around his waist. A large hand was splayed across the flat expanse of his stomach. Stiles sucked in a breath as it started to stroke along his stomach and moved to settle across his flat chest, fingers slightly curled around Stiles' shoulder just above where it was pressed into the mattress.

 

Stiles stiffened and pressed his lips together tightly to stop himself from screaming.

 

Someone was lying next to him in the bed!

 

The arm across his chest moved backwards and Stiles was suddenly pulled towards the middle of the bed so he was pressed against a hard chest. He could feel hard thighs pressing against his own, and with widened eyes, Stiles could feel an unmistakable hardness against his bottom.

 

After taking a shaky breath where he could feel his heart pounding in rhythm with his head, Stiles managed to tip his head backwards just a bit so he could see a dark head of hair behind his shirt-clad shoulder.

 

He couldn't hold back the choked noise that forced its way from his throat at his current predicament.

 

A strange shirt, a strange bed, a strange room – and a man! What had he done?

 

His head was spinning, reeling at the thought that he had... No. It couldn't be true. He had never gone without a chaperone since he had been confirmed a receptive, he had never even kissed anyone! Not even Mr Harris, and they had been...

 

A picture of his father flashed before his eyes. What would he say if he could see him now? The man who had dedicated his life to make sure Stiles was cared for, that he had the freedom to do what he wanted, providing he had a proper chaperone when not at the estate.

 

Not that that mattered now. He would now be considered a fallen man. Immoral and without honor. A reputation as tarnished as a common harlot, a bawd, a harridan!

 

Stiles was suddenly jolted from his thoughts when the hand on his shoulder tightened and a wave of nausea washed over him. If anyone were to know of this, his whole life would be in ruins. His whole body froze as the hand moved from his shoulder to rest across his chest and Stiles pressed his hand against his mouth, afraid that he would throw up if he couldn't keep the bile from rising further.

 

Behind him the man was taking slow, even breaths and Stiles suddenly found a small glimmer of hope. If he could get away before the other man woke up, no one would have to know about this horrible transgression.

 

While holding his breath Stiles reached down underneath the covers and grabbed a gentle hold of the strangers arm. He slowly moved it away from his chest and placed it back on the strangers own hip.

 

So far so good. Perhaps he could actually manage to sneak away?

 

“Stop right there!”

 

He gasped as he was suddenly flipped onto his back while the stranger moved to lean onto his elbow. Dark stubble covered what Stiles imagined was chiseled cheekbones and a determined chin. His hair was dark and tousled from sleep, a few strands falling down onto his forehead.

 

Stiles swallowed heavily.

 

“You're not running away from me, are you?” The man asked, his deep, sleep-rough timber rolling off of his lips like rich, dark honey. He moved forward and lowered his head and pressed his nose against Stiles' throat, rubbing it against the sensitive skin.

 

The soft scrape against his throat sent shivers throughout his spine and his skin tingled from the touch. The hard body pressed against his own, the hot breath leaving a moist trail, the deep musky scent from his tanned skin... Stiles was light-headed. It was too much. Too much at once. He wanted to push the man away, but he was afraid of what the man might do if he denied his advances.

 

He had heard about what some men would do towards a receptive or a woman who refused them.

 

Wetting his lips with a pink tongue Stiles cleared his throat. “Well... I... I have to go.” Stiles said in what could probably not be called anything other than a squeak.

 

The man raised his head and Stiles could see how his eyes had narrowed. “The whole night includes the morning, too.”

 

What the devil was he talking about? Stiles tried to pull away, but the strangers grip on his hip hardened. He forced a smile onto his lips. “I believe it is no longer morning, sir.” He said through clenched teeth.

 

The man just shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “I could care less about the time of day. I can pay extra.”

 

“Pay? What do you mean?” Stiles asked and tried to ignore the slight waver in his voice, his heart speeding up at thought of what the man was implying.

 

Above him the man insouciantly lowered his head back towards Stiles' throat, lips barely touching the thin layer of skin as he spoke. “After a night like that, I'll pay you whatever you'd like.”

 

As the words left the man's lips, Stiles froze completely. “You believe I am one of... a...”

 

The man looked up and his eyes locked with Stiles'. “I'm not paying you to talk.”

 

Ignoring the dark timbre to the man's voice, Stiles' hand flew up and hit him on the shoulder. “Get off of me! Leave me alone you horrid beast!”

 

He was granted small reprieve as the body on top of his own moved back slightly. “What the devil are you talking about?”

 

Thrashing wildly, Stiles hit every part of the man he could reach and kicked away the covers so that he could situp. “How dare you!” He yelled in outrage. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner? Never in my life have I been met with such disrespect! How... how could you even imply that I am one of those... _people_!” His chest heaved as he breathed, trying to calm both his breathing and his beating heart. How dared this... boorish _cad_ imply that he was immoral. No matter that he had just called himself as such just a moment earlier.

 

Sitting back on the bed across from Stiles, the man leered at him and gave him an appraising look. “Well...” The man began, smirking as Stiles looked down and flushed.

 

The shirt he was wearing was open almost to his waist, not covering his chest in the slightest as it dangled precariously off of one shoulder. Looking further down, he noticed that the frantic scrambling to get away from the stranger had not aided him in trying to retain a modicum of propriety as the shirt barely covered his privates, leaving his upper thighs and the swell of his bottom bare before the man's scrutinizing gaze.

 

With wide eyes Stiles grabbed the bunched up covers and pulled them to his chest in a furious motion and he steadfastly ignored the twitch of the strangers lip.

 

“You can call yourself whatever you want, but it's getting late and I have things to do. Come here!”

 

As a hand reached for him, Stiles slapped it away. “Don't touch me!”

 

“For the love of... Well then, explain why you re in my bed.” He said and leaned towards the pillows, rubbing a hand across his face.

 

With cheeks ablaze, Stiles tried to look anywhere but towards the exposed chest of his unwanted bed-mate, the tanned skin stretched across well developed muscles that dipped invitingly underneath the covers, a trail of dark hair scattered across his lower abdomen, and Stiles once more had to swallow heavily.

 

“Is this your room?”

 

As if the man hadn't even realized where they were, he looked around the room and ran his fingers through his hair. “No, it appears not. Is it yours?”

 

“Of course not!” Stiles growled and got off of the bed. He couldn't take even one more moment of this! Making sure that the shirt covered him as best as it could he hurriedly buttoned it up and began to search for his clothes. He noticed a pile of clothes and after some careful searching, throwing clothes every which way until he found his own shirt and the waistcoat he had been wearing the night before.

 

One of his socks lay underneath one of the strangers and he started to bend over to pick it up. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at the man who reclined lazily in the bed. He had raised his arms above his head and was watching Stiles calmly, as if the man woke up in strange rooms with unknown people regularly.

 

As he was probably wont to do.

 

The mad _did_ look the sort. Or at least what Stiles imagined they looked like. He had that dark, mysterious... _depraved_ feeling to him.

 

A corner of the man's mouth tugged upwards and a small smirk spread across his face as he realized Stiles' current predicament.

 

Glaring at the infuriating man, Stiles indignantly bent his knees and snatched up his sock and stomped throughout the room, collecting as much of his clothes as he could find before shutting himself into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

 

His heart thundered away deep within his chest and his blood pounded loudly in his ears. He slammed the back of his head onto the solid wood of the door twice before he managed to force himself to get move. Dropping his clothes onto the floor he started moving on wobbly legs. His stomach churned in protest when he staggered to the sink, grabbing it with both hands to keep himself standing.

 

How had this happened?

 

He had left San Francisco and his aunt to escape one scandal, and apparently walked right into another one! Stiles was sure that if his aunt ever found out about this, she would die of shame. Had he not been living with her for the last four years so he could learn proper etiquette and to learn what was expected of him as a receptive?

 

It seemed that for the most part, Stiles was bad student. Or generally just rubbish at implementing the theoretical knowledge into practice.

 

As it was, now he was inside a bathroom at some undisclosed location with one of the most striking men he had ever seen, albeit perhaps also one of the most annoying ones, too, and the man had hardly said more than a handful sentences!

 

Not knowing where he was or how he had ended up there, only one thing permeated Stiles' mind. He had to leave right away. He needed to leave and hoped he would never see either the room or the man ever again!

 

He turned and looked down at the heap of clothes, the formal evening attire he had worn at the wedding the day before when he had been accompanied by his father.

 

A shiver ran down his spine t the thought of showing himself outside in the morning dress. He had no gloves, no hat... did he even have his coat with him? What would the servants say? What would his father say?

 

No, he could make it home without being seen. He had only been back in town for a week, and he was sure he wouldn't be recognized immediately. Once he got home he could probably climb up the latticework that lead up to his room.

 

While Stiles rummaged through the pile of clothes, he all but groaned. In his hurry to get away from the man, he had left some of his clothes in the other room. Cursing his bad luck he grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it over his head, throwing it into a corner. He quickly pulled on his undershirt and the white single cuffed shirt was promptly buttoned. He could see his red checkered ascot tie, but the detachable wing collar was nowhere to be seen.

 

Suddenly a knock reverberated off of the tiled walls, and Stiles jumped, turning to the door. What if the man was trying to force his way inside? What if he refused to let him go?

 

On the other side of the door, the man's deep timbre traveled through the wood. “You forgot these. You might need them.”

 

His voice was almost steady when he answered. “Forgot what?”

 

“Your undergarments.” Came the amused reply. “They were underneath the covers.”

 

Stiles' cheeks blossomed once more as he unlocked the door and cautiously opened it an inch. A finger teasingly reached forward, dangling the cotton garment in front of his face and Stiles tore it away abruptly. When he moved to close the door, another piece of clothing was presented.

 

His collar.

 

“This was on the dresser.”

 

Stiles grumbled something through clenched teeth that m,ay or may not have been a thank you, or a curse before he grabbed his collar.

 

Suddenly a sock was hanging off of the man's finger. “This was on the table.”

 

“There is no need for you to recite the place where they were found. Please stop embarrassing me and hand me the rest at once if there are more!”

 

“Do I embarrass you?” The man asked, clearly amused.

 

Stiles' eyes narrowed. “It is bad form of you to even ask such things! Hand me the rest at once!”

 

“That was all so far.”

 

It had been more than enough. Stiles promptly shut the door and continued to dress himself. Pulling on his undergarments before reaching for his black trousers. Fastening the wing collar he threw the ascot tie around his neck, scrunching his nose when he realized he was unable to tie it properly.

 

If aunt Agnes could see him now.

 

He could all but hear her soft spoken voice as it chanted from the thick volume of ' _Etiquette and proper conduct for Receptives_ '. _”Learn to govern yourself to be gentle and patient, Stiles. While the gift of speech may be valuable in its own, silence is often held at twice the worth.”_

 

Apparently this was the day when he disappointed and shamed his whole family.

 

Slipping on his dark silken waistcoat, he looked around for his morning coat. It was nowhere to be seen in the bathroom, which meant that it was still in the other room.

 

With _him_.

 

As another wave of nausea hit him, Stiles took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He could do this, and he could do it with dignity.

 

Opening the door he slowly walked back into the bedroom. The sound of clinking coins mare him look towards the window where the man was looking out of the tall window. He had his hands in his pockets and was presumably watching the street below. The edges of his tanned skin seemed almost golden as the sun gently lapped at it.

 

He was wearing dark fitted trousers with astonishingly crisp creases for a garment that had spent several hours in a heap on the floor, and a white undershirt that hugged the broad back tightly. His arms were thick and muscular.

 

Stiles came a little closer and reached out with his arm, the white shirt he had been sleeping in tightly clutched in his fingers. “I do believe this is yours.”

 

Without looking at him, the man grabbed the shirt and let it fall onto the table in front of the window. “I think we are at the Madison.”

 

“The hotel?” Stiles glanced out of the window and saw the carriages below and felt his stomach churn again. It was becoming a familiar, albeit wholly uncomfortable feeling. “We're at a hotel?”

 

The man nodded. “Do you need help?” He asked, surprisingly gently.

 

Stiles took a step back and a hand sought its way towards his neck, grabbing the tie as if it would magically tie itself. “N... no.. I...”

 

“Don't be stupid.” The man said and took a step forward. Stiles tried to ignore the heat coming from the firm body in front of him as the hands moved to take away Stiles' own.

 

The touch made his skin turn into gooseflesh and Stiles had to suppress a shiver as the stranger tied his ascot with surprising ease.

 

Stepping aside the man once more shoved his hands into his pockets. “Would you like me to order you something to eat?”

 

Stiles pressed a hand to his stomach and grimaced. “I believe I will never be able to stomach food again.”

 

“Is your head hurting, too?”

 

Stiles looked up and met his eyes. “Yes. How could you...”

 

Waving Stiles' question away the man pulled on his shirt, letting it hang open from his shoulders. “You are suffering the aftereffects. What you need is a drink.” He frowned as he began to button the shirt. “And so do I.”

 

Squaring his shoulders Stiles began to shake his head, but quickly stopped as the pounding grew worse. “I don't drink. I only took a sip of champagne when the bride and groom toasted. After that, I only had some of the punch.”

 

“Were you at the wedding?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The eyes narrowed and his gaze turned cold. “As an invited guest?”

 

Raising his chin defiantly, Stiles pressed his lips together. There was no need for this man to know that his father was acquainted with the bride's family. He also had no need to share that he had just arrived at Beacon Hills and was presently running away from the aftermath of a scandal that had made his aunt unable to look him in the eye.

 

The man simply rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. “Very well, just remember to stay away from the punch the next time you're at a wedding. It is probably the best way to avoid the aftereffects of a crapulent head – amongst other things.”

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Stiles took a deep breath. He had been inebriated and ended up in bed with a strange man. How humiliating.

 

With one last attempt at retaining some of his dignity he looked up at the man. “I believe it is best if I were to be on my way, Mr...?”

 

The man gave a stiff bow. “Derek Hale, at your service.

 

Hale?

 

Stiles' eyes widened and he felt faint. This man was a part of one of the oldest, most powerful families in the state, and Stiles had acted like a common bawd. His face was white as he turned around to leave the room.

 

“Wait. I'll escort you home.”

 

“I don't believe that it would be appropriate, Mr Hale.” When he saw the smile on Hale's face, Stiles realized how utterly ridiculous that statement had been.

 

“In any case, you are probably in need of money for a cab.” He began to rummage through his pockets and then grabbed his coat from the chair to search that as well.

 

“Mr Hale, I have no idea how I ended up... here, but it has to have happened with your assistance. Therefore, you have done more than enough for me. I sincerely hope that I will never have to lay eyes upon you again.” With clenched teeth Stiles marched towards the door and grabbed his morning coat and slipped on his shoes.

 

“Excuse me.”

 

Annoyed, Stiles paused, hand poised on the handle.. “Yes?”

 

“Are you Ge... Gen... Genim Stilinski?”

 

He turned around and saw him reading from a wrinkled paper he had obviously found in his pocket when searching for his wallet.

 

“Yes. That is correct, though it is pronounced _Genim_.”

 

“Genim John Stilinski?”

 

Stiles felt another shiver down his spine. How could he know? “Yes.”

 

“Then I believe you should stay a while.”

 

He sighed heavily. “Why?”

 

Hale raised his gaze from the paper and looked directly at him. “Because, Mr Stilinski, we are apparently married.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if his life wasn't complicated enough, when trying to sneak out of the hotel unseen, Stiles stumbles upon his father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to cram in some information on this 'verse' and on receptives, but it didn't fit with the flow of the story, so it has been pushed back into the next chapter.
> 
> And as of this chapter, the plot of 'The Marriage Mishap' - the original book, is no longer paralell with the story. It is now my own plot, although with elements from the book. I claim to own nothing.
> 
> Enjoy.

The Marriage Mishap

Chapter Two

“That's it... easy. Breathe deeply.” The voice that slowly permeated his foggy mind was deep and steady. Frowning inwardly, Stiles wondered who it was. He wasn't able to recall to whom the voice belonged.

Stiles raised his head with a start and felt how the room started spinning before a pair of strong hands gently pressed him back into the pillows. He clenched his eyes shut minutely before opening them, praying that the spinning would have stopped. Someone was looming above him, and he couldn't help but groan as he recognized the features of the man.

“Oh no...” He groaned heavily, closing his eyes once more as if to erase the image from his mind. “I thought you were simply a nightmare.”

The man sat down next to him on the bed and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Most people would not consider a night with me a nightmare.”

Groaning once more, Stiles placed his hand across his forehead, as if it would help him ground the room and force it to cease its wretched spinning. “I am hardly most people, Mr.,” He looked up at the man, pursing his lips in thought. “Excuse me, but what did you say your name was?”

The man visibly bristled, straightening his back and narrowing his eyes, glaring at Stiles as if he was a complete idiot for not immediately realizing who exactly was gracing Stiles with his presence. “Do you not remember anything?”

“On the contrary, I have the most vivid recollection of you claiming that we are married.” Shaking his head slowly, Stiles continued. “Although before that...”

“Then you have no recollection of...” The man, Derek... Derek Hale, Stiles suddenly remembered, motioned towards the rumpled sheets on the bed.

Stiles could feel his ears flushing at the insinuation. “No.”

“Not even when we...”

Shaking his head so vigorously the room almost began to spin again, he cut him off before any more detailed re-tellings came to life! “No! Are you completely sure that we are married?” He asked tiredly, pushing himself into a sitting position, only to be struck by another wave of dizziness.

Derek quickly grabbed his shoulders to hold him steady as Stiles began to sway. Eyes swimming within a sea of colors met brown as their gazes locked. “Perhaps you should lay down.”

Stiles had to hold back an almost hysterical snicker at his words. That was how he had ended up in this mess to begin with! Taking a deep breath to clear his mind and to quell any treacherous thoughts of how impossibly deep the other man's eyes were, Stiles pushed the hands away from his shoulder. “That paper you found... where is it?”

The urgency in his voice must have been noticeable because without a word the man grabbed it off of the nightstand. “The ceremony was conducted by Judge Martin himself, Lydia and Caleb Greenberg were the witnesses.”

“The newlyweds?” Taking the offered piece of paper, Stiles folded it out and read the words with a sinking heart. It had what appeared to be both of their signatures as well as the other three that were present, and the official stamp across where the Judge had signed it.

“I have known Caleb Greenberg for years. He works at the courthouse. I don't believe it can be any more legally binding.”

“We got married at a wedding?” Stiles sneered, trying to fight the raising panic as the evidence of his foolishness had erased all doubts about the situation. “That is hardly appropriate.”

Running a hand through thick dark strands, Derek cleared his throat. “I believe it had to be at the reception afterward, because I do remember the actual wedding.”

Stiles dared a quick glance towards his husb... the man. “Do you also not remember? I thought I was the only one.”

Derek gave him a sardonic smile that was little more than a grimace. “I remember some parts very vividly, I assure you.”

Ignoring the flaring heat in his cheeks, Stiles raised his head defiantly. “I suppose that does explain how I ended up here.”

Getting up from the bed, the man walked across the room to pick up his shirt. Pulling it over his shoulders, he turned towards Stiles. “As well as me. Despite what you may think of me, I do not usually devote my evenings to the defloration of the innocent.”

Stiles hurriedly got off of the bed and ineffectually tried to smooth out the creases on his clothes. “I suppose you do that in the afternoons, then?”

The glare he received in return for his quip all but made him want to crawl back underneath the covers and hide from the man's scrutiny. Stiles cleared his throat. “This cannot be true! I refuse it to be.”

“Some people would be overwrought with joy if they suddenly learned they were married to me.”

“Then you should have married them!” Stiles said, exasperated. “We have to do something!”

Buttoning his shirt, Derek looked over towards Stiles. “What do you suggest?”

“Well...” He began, tapping a finger to his chin. “The witnesses, Lydia and Caleb, we should start by talking to them.”

“I wish you luck in that endeavor. They are on their honeymoon in New York, and I doubt they will be returning for at least two months.”

“Perhaps the Judge? He might...”

“I doubt the Judge will look kindly upon us questioning his word.”

“Is it too late for an annulment?” Stiles asked, words shaky and face burning hotly. He knew the chances were slim, but he had to know.

Derek gave the bed a pointed look and then took a deep breath of his own. “Far too late.”

Stiles' stomach turned and he had to force himself to speak. “Then... then there is only one remaining option.”

“Divorce?” Derek met his gaze as he tucked the shirt into his pants. “How do you believe our friends and family will take such a scandal?”

He could feel his legs shaking as he began to nibble on his thumbnail. Another scandal. His Aunt who had all but repudiated him for the incident with Adrian, what would she say if she ever found out about this? And his father? He would never be able to walk with his head held high again. He would become ostracized in society, possibly even lose his position. The position of Chief of Police could not be manned by someone whose family lacked such base morals.

“If no one knows about our marriage, then no one will need to know about the divorce, and there will be no scandal.” He said, almost trying to convince himself that it was true.

“Then you are saying that you have no interest in being married?” The frown in between his eyes deepened.

His imperiously displeased expression made Stiles' stomach churn harder. He righted himself. “It might come as a surprise to you, Mr. … Hale, was it? I have my own plans for the future, and they do not include a husband presently, nor in the foreseeable future.”

Pulling on his west and jacket, Derek pocketed his tie. “Neither you nor I am in the right state of mind to make such a decision at the moment, I believe.”

“My decision has already been made, and I truly hope that you will keep this lamentable debacle to yourself.” Stiles said with narrowed eyes and stomped off towards the door.

Derek followed him. “Stop.”

Placing his hand atop the handle, Stiles looked at the man. He was two, maybe three inches taller than him, but Stiles was definitely lacking when it came to the sheer mass of the man. Not that Stiles was gaunt, but from what he had seen of the man thus far, the defined muscles on the stranger were simply smooth skin and awkward angles on him. He ran his tongue across his dry lips before speaking. “Yes?”

Derek simple placed a heavy palm on top of the door next to Stiles' head, effectively trapping him, the door behind him and a wall to his left. “Does the husband not get a kiss goodbye?”

Stiles' knees all but gave way for gravity and he could feel the heat when the man moved closer. When Derek's eyes met his own all perchance for reasonable thought fled his mind. A strong arm captured his waist and pressed Stiles against a hard chest. Stiles could feel the restrained strength in the embrace.

“Well?” He demanded, a small smirk in the corner of his mouth.

He wanted to protest but could not find his words and blurry images danced behind his suddenly closed eyelids.

Lips pressed against lips. Dry and warm meeting slightly moist and tense. Stiles found that the lips pressing against his own managed to part his with practiced ease, and that a tongue suddenly snaked past them.

Frozen in place, Stiles let the man slide his tongue against his own, sending small sparks of pleasure down his spine and his stomach jumped in surprise.

The kiss was slow but firm. His mouth was languorously explored and each passing moment made Stiles fall deeper into the sudden haze that seemed to envelop him. His thoughts ran rampant and his blood singed hotly in his veins.

Suddenly the lips pressing against his own disappeared and in its place small kisses were placed along his jaw and towards his ear. When they touched the sensitive skin just underneath his left earlobe, Stiles shuddered. The lips against his skin stretched wider, as if in a smile as they moved to work their way down his neck, only to be stopped by the high collar of his shirt.

“There is no need to abrogate the marriage immediately, is there?” Derek whispered hotly against Stiles' ear. “What difference will an hour or two make? What do you say?” He asked, raising his head to give Stiles room to breathe.

  
xXxOoOxXx

Derek Hale looked down at the wide brown eyes, the same eyes that had been locked with his own the night before. He could see the wet, swollen lips that had cried out, hoarse from lust and shouting out his pleasure. He could so clearly remember the feel of their bodies touching, their separate entities slowly becoming one.

He could clearly remember the pleasure they had found in each other, and he frowned at the frightened expression in front of him. He could not understand Stiles' reaction to his advances, not after last night. He was bursting with need to let go of all inhibitions and rules of society, but one look at the widened brown eyes before him made him suppress his desires.

Taking a step back he inhaled deeply, a hint of lavender teasing his nostrils as he fought to get his bearings once more.

Although he was slightly disappointed that the one who had shared his bed so enthusiastically before now remembered nothing of the night and was apparently not interested in a repeat performance, he could easily shake off the disappointment.

He had no desire for unwilling partners, and as he had said before: He was not usually accosting the young and the innocent. There was no need as people often readily threw themselves at him, whether he had any interest in them or not.

“At least let me escort you outside and find you a cab.” He said and handed Stiles his black jacket, gently ushering him aside and opening the door out into the carpeted hallway.

xXxOoOxXx

Stiles was confused as he followed Derek's lead and pulled on his coat. The air was cooler outside the room, and slowly his thoughts cleared. What if someone were to spot them, together at a hotel? At the top of the stairs he stopped. “I would like to go down on my own.”

Derek peered down the stairs and into the lobby. There were a few men seated at the couches, and another three were at the counter. Frowning he shook his head.

“I will follow you to the cab.” He said gruffly, suddenly not at all pleased at the possibility that Stiles might attract attention in his slightly rumpled suit and uncombed hair.

Stiles tried to object, but a hand grabbed his elbow and made him walk down the stairs. The touch was strong, and perhaps, somewhere deep, deep down, it made Stiles feel just a little more brave.

He averted his eyes as they passed the men. The possibility of him being recognized was small, but he didn't want to take any chances.

He raised his gaze for a moment to estimate the distance to the door. Just a few more feet and he would be safe outside the hotel. His spirit rose. No one would ever know!

In the same moment, his father walked through the doors and into the hotel.

Stiles’ heart stopped, and so did his feet. He was frozen in place in the middle of the lobby.

What was his father doing at the Madison a Sunday afternoon? His first instinct was to run, but the grip on his elbow was too strong. Yanking his arm back, he tried to get away.

The hold tightened. “What is going on?” He hissed.

Stiles gasped as his father's gaze landed on the two of them. Terrified, he saw his father's stunned face morph into barely contained rage. Suddenly his father was accompanied by three women. Acquaintances of his father, and deeply involved socialites. Honored members of high society, and the guardians of morals and propriety.

How was he to explain the situation, without them jumping to the obvious conclusion?

“I assume you are acquainted with one of them.” Derek said quietly as he followed Stiles' panicked gaze to the small group.

His lips were moving, but he was unable to make a sound, gaping like a stranded fish would for water.

The people next to his father suddenly spotted him and their eyes widened when they realized who he was. They immediately began to whisper and casting meaning glances towards his father. “It... it's my father, and a few of his acquaintances.”

Derek's eyes widened as he looked from the small group to Stiles. “Your father is the Chief of Police?”

He nodded and looked up at him pleadingly. “What should we say?”

A sudden smile split the man's face and made Stiles hold in a breath at his suddenly charming appearance. Hooking his arm around Stiles' waist, he leaned over until his lips just barely touched his ear. “How about the truth?”

Stiles could have slapped him. “I told you that I don't want anyone to know about this... deplorable episode.”

“Then you would rather tell them that we simply spent the night together? I admire your courage, because your father looks positively murderous.”

Stiles swallowed harshly and glanced at his father. The man was flushed with anger and he walked stiffly with barely contained rage. Stiles desperately hoped that the people present were enough for his father to wait to kill him until they were home. Behind him his companions watched with wide eyes, eagerly memorizing every detail so they could recount for this later.

“What is this supposed to mean?”

“Mr. Stilinski, a pleasure meeting you again. Stiles was just telling me you were his father.” Derek said, smiling placatingly.

It was not until Derek spoke that John Stilinski realized exactly who was standing next to his son. “Indeed I am, Mr. Hale.” John said, eyes narrow and watching the both of them intently, noting how close they were standing and that Derek had his arm around his son's waist. He did not like that.

He did not like that at all.

“We were just about to go see you, weren't we, Stiles?” Derek gave Stiles' elbow a small squeeze, causing him to utter a small squeaking sound. Derek had to suppress a sigh at the noise as Mr. Stilinski's eyes narrowed.

John threw a furtive glance over his shoulder towards where their very eager audience were standing, easily within hearing distance, before facing his son once more. “Mr. Hale, I demand an explanation.”

“Believe me, Mr. Stilinski, it came as a surprise to us as well. Didn't it?” Derek gave Stiles a friendly smile. “Why don't you tell your father.”

If he had ever needed the power to make the floor swallow him, that would have been it, and he would probably have dashed off like a mad man had it not been for the steady grip Derek had of his waist. Which would be the bigger scandal – To marry a complete stranger while inebriated, or to have spent the night with one?

He raised his chin and tried to collect the shards of his pride. “Mr. Hale and I... got married yesterday.”

His father coughed as if he had choked on Stiles' words, and Stiles looked at him with concerned eyes. Suddenly the trio of socialites came up to them and began to offer their congratulations.

It took Stiles a few moments to realize that everyone seemed genuinely delighted about the news, well, except for his father who tried to glare daggers at Derek as inconspicuously as he could.

One of the ladies watched Stiles and Derek with great interest before a smile crept onto her reddened lips. “Oh, such a wonderful surprise!” She said, flashing a row of white teeth.

“Thank you Mrs. Argent.” Derek said pleasantly.

Stiles frowned at the reaction of the group as the others also began to congratulate them. How come no one wondered what had brought this on? Hadn’t Stiles just married one of the more eligible bachelors in town? At least he was happy that no one was throwing mean words at him that he no doubt deserved, even though his father looked as angry as he had ever seen him before.

Although that would have to wait until later as the biggest problem right now were to get away before anyone wanted details about the marriage.

“I… We need to go now, father. I’ll talk to you later.” Stiles said softly, avoiding his father’s gaze and staring at the floor.

His father simply nodded. “Yes. Let us do that. And you, Mr. Hale, need to come over for dinner as soon as possible. Bring your uncle, too. After all, we must get to know one another now that we are… family.”

“Certainly, sir. I shall forward the invitation to my uncle. Well then, good afternoon, ladies. Mr. Stilinski.” Derek said as he raised his hat at the ladies before leading Stiles outside.

Once they were onto the street, Stiles had to squint as the strong sunlight fell onto his face. He watched as Derek motioned for a cab. The cabbie stopped his horses and jumped down from his seat, hurrying to open the door for Stiles.

“Well, Mr. Hale… It has been nice to… make your acquaintance.”

A warm hand landed heavily on his arm. “What do you mean by that?”

Pulling away from the hold Stiles sighed. “I have already told you. You really don’t think we should continue being married?”

Derek pulled his arm away and shoved his hands into his pockets before shrugging his shoulders. “Now when your father already knows about it, what else can we do? Before nightfall everyone will know about our union.”

Curse that man and his affinity for being right! Stiles bit his lower lip. “But I know absolutely nothing about you.”

Derek squared his shoulders as he straightened his coat. “I am Derek Nathaniel Hale. I am a partner in a firm that is allowing me and my family to live comfortably. I am twenty-six years old, at good health, no major vices and I have all of my teeth present.” A wide smile spread across Derek’s unshaven face, showing off two rows of white teeth as he gave Stiles a pointed look. “Does that meet your requirements for a husband?”

Stiles had to press his lips together hard to stop him from snickering at Derek’s smile. His two front teeth being slightly longer than the rest, making him look ridiculous, although infuriatingly endearing. “Shallowly, yes.”

“What else do you wish to know?”

“You know absolutely nothing about me either.” Stiles said, about to turn to climb into the carriage.

Derek gently grabbed his hand, his thumb stroking the naked skin on the back of Stiles’ hand. “I will see you tonight at your fathers’. We shall speak more then.”

The touch sent a spike of warmth shooting through his arm and Stiles desperately pulled it free. “I said I have other plans, that doesn’t include you. Plans that…” ‘Could cause an ever bigger scandal?’ Stiles grew silent, not wishing to say too much. This man had no place in his life. Could have no place in his life.

Derek crossed his arms over his chest and watched as Stiles hurried into the coach, the door closing behind him. He paid the cabbie and watched as the brown carriage began to drive off down the cobbled street.

Derek had learned one thing early - to always have multiple options as hastily made decisions was something you would bitterly regret. Uninformed decisions could also mean disaster. It was true that he knew nothing about his new husband, but tonight when they met he would know all he needed to know about Genim John Stilinski.

xXxOoOxXx

“Thank goodness it’s you!” Stiles flung himself inelegantly onto the red sofa and hid his face behind his hands.

Across from him Jackson Whittemore sat down in a padded armchair. “Who did you think it would be? Your new husband perhaps?”

Stiles gasped and sat up, glaring at his cousin. Twice removed. “How did you know?” It had only been a couple of hours since he had left his father at the Madison.

“Good news travel fast, you know.” Jackson said, although his voice clearly stated he believed the opposite.

“Don’t poke fun at me, Jackson.” Stiles said sulkily. Once he had gotten home he had taken a bath and tried to rest, but there had been none to be found. His mind kept working tirelessly and had prevented all attempts at sleeping.

“The whole town knows about it. Mrs. Argent were at the Madison for a women’s luncheon, and you have to realize how the gossip travels at such affairs. I heard your father was escorting her there. I can imagine the shock he must have felt. It is a wonder he didn’t get a cardiac!” Jackson got up from the chair, posture stiff as he ran his fingers through his light hair. “How could you? Do you even know who Hale is?”

Stiles smiled grimly. “Mrs. Argent and her friends seemed quite delighted.”

Barking out a laugh Jackson walked up to the window and pulled back one of the heavy drapes to watch the street below. “I bet they were. But then again, all they believe is important is social status. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do something so utterly idiotic? I could have stopped you had I known.”

“Fine. I will ask your permission the next time I get married!” Stiles snapped and jumped off of the sofa to start pacing the room. “Where were you anyway? Yesterday evening, I mean. Perhaps none of this would have happened had you been there to stop me.”

Dropping the curtain Jackson pushed his hands into his pockets. “I… I had to go. Danny started to get sentimental so I had to get him out of there as soon as possible.”

“Ha!” Stiles shot out and stopped to glare accusingly at Jackson . “You are such a coward! Danny’s a great man, and you know he likes you. He’d marry you in a second if you so much as rose your pinkie!”

Jackson simply shook his head and waved the idea off. “It’s not me we’re discussing now. It’s you and your fiasco.”

“My latest fiasco, you mean.”

Jackson just stared at him. Except his aunt, Jackson was the only other person who knew about the whole story about Harris. Even though he had been sent away to live with his aunt at twelve, Jackson and Stiles had had regular contact, both through letters and visits. After all, Jackson was the only other receptive Stiles knew.

Sitting back down into the chair, Jackson slowly started talking again. “I didn’t even think you knew the Hales.”

“I don’t. I just… woke up next to one.” Stiles said and shrugged his shoulders.

Jackson’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you saying you got married, just like that?” He snapped his fingers.

Stiles nodded. “I don’t even remember the ceremony. Neither does he.”

“But… how…?”

He sighed. “I have been told that the punch could somehow be involved.”

Jackson started to laugh. It was muted at first, but soon he was laughing as loud as he could, one arm clutching at his stomach as his head was thrown back. “You sure know how to make it interesting Stiles.”

Stiles slumped back onto the sofa. “What’s so funny?”

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Jackson tried to compose himself. “When his uncle finds out what Hale has done, he’ll fly off his handle. That in its self is almost worth being related to that family.”

“What do you have against them, anyway?”

“Nothing. I just don’t like him. He’s… off…”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Great reason. I can understand that.”

“Stiles… my father once told me that the Hales were involved in a series of disappearances about ten years ago. No evidence was found, and neither were the people. The Hales are influential people so there were only speculations, but a lot of strange things happened back then.”

Stiles’ heart almost stopped as he listened. “Are you saying…”

“I don’t know. We were young back then, and I don’t remember, but I think it was around the same time your mother went away.”

He could feel the furious heat behind his eyes as the stinging of held back tears made him blink repeatedly. “I…”

“Stiles,” Jackson interrupted, placing a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, making him look up. “Were you serious about what you wrote in your letter?” Blue eyes watched intently as Stiles nodded. He sighed. “It could be dangerous. If it comes out, it will cause a scandal, and both your father and… husband will be affected by the outcome.”

“I have to do this. I’m not one for being idle. You know me. I’ll start climbing walls if I’m left to my own devices for too long.”

“Fine. I’ll do what I can.” Pulling away Jackson’s gaze fell upon the clock on top of the mantelpiece. He groaned as he noted the time. “I have to go. I’m invited to have dinner with Danny and his parents… ugh… it’s escalating.”

“But…” Stiles said, though it was no use as Jackson had already left. Sighing heavily he toppled back onto the couch and buried his face in one of the pillows. Thinking back to the reason he had come back to Beacon Hills, other than to be with his father, he realized he had to deal with a few things first.

He had to get rid of Derek Hale.


End file.
